


PI TO A PIE

by Alexandria_Lin



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Cute, Dessert & Sweets, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Humor, Love, M/M, Maru-MA, Pi, Pi Day, Pie, Romance, Sweet, White Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 09:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30053226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandria_Lin/pseuds/Alexandria_Lin
Summary: ‘At least you’re puzzling yourself over numerical facts and data! … On the other hand, I am puzzling over the perplexing intricacies of how the mind works when in love …’It’s Pi Day! Or is it White Day? This is confusing in all the fun ways…! And what has a pie got to do with, er, pi?Yuuri is reminded it’s White/Pi Day, and he knows what he has to do ... kind of. If it’s for Wolf, he’d even willingly do Maths ... or something!
Relationships: Murata Ken & Shibuya Yuuri, Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri
Kudos: 15
Collections: Maru-MA Royal Couple





	PI TO A PIE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arius_Starwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arius_Starwalker/gifts).
  * Inspired by [CHIVALRY FOR A CHERRY](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464092) by [Alexandria_Lin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandria_Lin/pseuds/Alexandria_Lin). 



> To Arius_Starwalker, who gave me my first ever comment on my first ever fic, and whose comments always make me so happy. Oh, and whose own ‘Maru-MA’ fics are amazing and highly entertaining!  
> This is kind of hilariously ironic, to be giving a gift, and that gift just happens to be a fic on White Day gifts! Ah, well, I suppose this is my return gift for the wonderful gifts of your support! :)
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I do NOT own ‘Maru-MA’ / ‘Kyou Kara Maou!’. All rights and property of Takabayashi Tomo, etc etc.
> 
> So, this is kind of sort of the sibling fic to the Valentine’s one ... except that, erm, they are stand-alones …. I just realised I didn’t reveal what kind of chocolates the Royal Couple made for each other in that fic, so I kind of played with it here for a bit ... haha!

“Pie, Your Eminence? I got your favourite!” Comes the sing-song voice of Gurrier Josak, as he enters the private parlour of his shop with flair and flamboyance. Today, it’s a white dress I might have called a wedding dress on Earth, if not for the thigh-high slit, swooping low neckline and bare back. A very sexy bride indeed he would make on Earth!

I can’t help but shudder a little, in mild horror, at the sound of pies. A shame, as Gurrier has quite the hand at cooking, and the pie ought to be good.

“Er, not this time, Gurrier, thanks …” I smile sheepishly.

“Aww, how rude! Your Eminence, you’ve just broken poor Gurrie-chan’s heart with your cold rejection!”

“Ahaha … usually, I would be ecstatic for some pie, you know … but, not today. Sorry …. For now — mmph,” I groan and clutch onto my stomach, “urgh — just the thought of pies makes me feel all weak!”

“Oh dear!” coos Gurrier in a mock sympathetic tone. “What sort of horrifying encounter did Your Eminence have with the likes of these sweet babies?”

“It’s Shibuya!” I moan pitifully into my hands. If he were here to hear me complain like this, he’ll probably ask me, ‘How old are you, Murata? Geez …’.

“The Young Master? What cute bizarreness did His Majesty get into this time around?” Gurrier laughs warmly. Even Shin Makoku’s shrewd spy is really very fond of Shibuya and his antics.

“Mmm, I don't know about cute — but that’s because I see myself as the victim here, y’know,” I say, adjusting my glasses. “As for bizarre, well, it’s Shibuya, so it can’t be helped …”

In a way, I suppose you could say I might have indirectly started it, in the first place.

Shibuya and I were checking out the bookstores. Since the end-of-year examinations are fast approaching, he was desperate to get good reference books for revision, and I had willingly agreed to help him. I always enjoy spending time with my best friend, even if it’s to study together.

This time, it just so happened that I also needed to check out some other sections of the bookstore we were in. After pointing out the books I’d recommend, I wandered off for a moment to run through the magazines on event planning and management, while Shibuya was still busy weighing his options.

“Hey, Murata, I got them!” Shibuya called out cheerfully, just as I was about halfway through one of the more interesting articles.

“Hm — oh, which one did you settle on getting for Mathematics?”

“This one — the one with the blue cover.”

“Good. That one has the best contents, overall.” I nodded approvingly. “It can be a bit complicated to comprehend, compared to the other one, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“Eh? Um, I know that’s what you said from the beginning, but I chose it mainly because the second best option was orange — I mean, I’m not a fan of the colour, and I like blue!” he laughed.

I shrugged, and smiled fondly. “Oh, well, if you hate the colour that much, then it would only put you off from studying, anyway. So this works out nicely, I guess. OK, are we ready to go?”

“Huh? Aren’t you going to get any of those?” He indicated the stack of magazines I had been flipping through. “Why are you looking up event planning, anyway?”

“I was just looking for some inspiration,” I explained. “Pi Day is coming up in less than a month, and my school is organising a festival of sorts to celebrate. I got selected to lead the event organising committee for this year.”

“Whoa, a special day for pies?! Mmm…! To think that a school that centres on elite education would throw a celebration for a dessert — Murata, your school is so cool! That must be why their education programme is excellent, huh? They teach their students to appreciate everything.”

Shibuya looked so excited, I almost didn’t have the heart to break it to him.

“Um, Shibuya, it’s ‘ _pi_ ’, as in the approximate numerical value 3.14159 etc etc. Not ‘pie’, as in apple pie or pineapple pie or carrot pie.”

“Oh …” Shibuya’s face fell. At the mention of the mathematical concept, I thought he turned slightly green. But he rallied himself quickly enough. “Ah, but it’s still something important to you, isn’t it? Here, let me help you pick out something good!”

Planning the thing with and running my ideas by Shibuya made the task actually enjoyable! Even though it was supposed to be a dreary academic event, I soon came up with plenty of refreshing ideas to make the whole thing fun, while maintaining academic prestige.

“When is it again?” Shibuya asked, just as we were about ready to leave. “Pi Day, I mean …”

“It’s the 14th of March,” I replied.

“The 14th of March? Huh, why does it feel like there’s something significant about that date…?”

“Someone’s birthday?” I suggested.

“No … that’s not it,” he muttered distractedly.

“Or maybe it’s an appointment with someone? No way! Have you got yourself a date with some girl?” I smirked, knowing full well that would never happen, _ever_. Say what you will, but anyone who knows Shibuya at all would know that he is far too attached … to that dear fiance of his.

“What? No, of course not!” Shibuya rubbed his forehead, as though trying to grab on to an elusive thought. “The 14th of March, the 14th of March …. Gosh, I’m pretty sure I’ve been meaning to do something important on that day …! Ah — I got it!” He turned to me with a passionate expression. “It’s White Day! So … then … Pi Day and White Day fall on the same date?”

“I never thought of it, but, yeah,” I affirmed. “The thing is, Pi Day is recognised internationally, to celebrate mathematics. Whereas, White Day was started here in Japan, really. They picked the date for one month after Valentine’s Day.”

Shibuya nodded to show he was following, but I could tell he was only half listening. His mind was clearly working out something, probably to do with whatever this important thing he intends to do for White Day is.

“So…?” I interrupted his deep contemplations. “What is it you’ve been meaning to do for White Day that is so important?” I grinned and elbowed him. “Go on! I won’t tell Lord von Bielefeld.”

As to be expected, Shibuya blushed.

“I — um — uh, could you maybe wait here for a second, Murata…?”

And before I could respond, he dashed off to a different section of the bookstore. I shake my head with a sigh, and followed after him. To my slight surprise, I found him feverishly browsing through the section on cooking and recipes — the dessert corner, to be specific. Ten minutes later, he had bought a couple of books dedicated entirely to the making of pies!

“Huh? Are you getting those for your mom? For White Day?” I looked at him sideways. “I know you get so awkward giving return gifts to your mom, but cook books? Really? That’s not a typical White Day gift, is it? If you want, I can go with you to the White Day sales again, this year.”

“It’s … not for my mom.”

“No?” I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, somehow, I don't think your brother is the type who would appreciate recipes. Though, if it’s from you, your big brother would appreciate anything ….”

“For Shouri? No way!” Shibuya rolled his eyes. “The only reason he might appreciate anything to do with recipes is if a 2-D girl is working on it.”

“I think you’re underestimating your baby brother power over him. If you call him ‘onii-chan’ really cutely and ask him to make you a pie, I’m sure he’ll drop everything to do so for you,” I laughed. “You know, back then, you only got three gifts to return on White Day. So if your mom and brother are off the checklist for those, that means … they are for me? Ah, now I feel kind of bad, because we didn’t split any ganache and truffles between us this year! Mn, but if you’re getting me books for White Day, I prefer soccer magazines rather then pie recipes.”

“Uhhh, they’re not for anyone.” Shibuya coughed, fidgeting uncomfortably and getting a little pink. “I mean, I bought them for myself.”

“Wah! Shibuya, this must be the first time I’ve known you to buy books that are not baseball related, nor strictly necessary for your studies!” I said, impressed. “I get the feeling that this is truly a momentous occasion I’m witnessing!”

Little did I know then that ‘momentous occasion’ entailed outrageous pie taste-testing like I’ve never _ever_ experienced before — not even second-hand, through the memories of all those who had once owned my soul! That’s right! In the month or so that followed, I had eaten all manner of questionable pastries! It was especially unappetising in the first week. From completely shapeless gooey globs, to re-creations of brick rubbles; from crusts that were burnt to a char, to crusts that were so undercooked you could taste the raw ingredients of the dough! And don’t even get me started on the countless test batches of fillings for the pies!

I’m not usually a fussy eater — despite what Shibuya might say to the contrary, in reference to the days they were feeding me porridge for a week straight, during my so-called recovery, on the return trip from Seisakoku, right before Darco. Heck, I even told Shibuya then, that if it’s him, I’ll stick with him to the end, horrible food or not! But an entire month of experimental pies? Let’s just say I’d like a break from pies for awhile. Maybe I’m being unfair … granted, Shibuya made remarkable progress in his pie-making skills, given his motivation behind it all.

The day immediately after purchasing those recipe books for pies, Shibuya had asked his mother, to her delighted astonishment, for a session of pie-making lesson. Speaking of Mama Shibuya’s cooking … mmm … those were some really good pies she made for Christmas, some time ago — and stew, and fried chicken, too!

But once he got all the tips he could get out of his mom, Shibuya had come begging me to allow him to use my home kitchen. It seemed Shibuya was keen on avoiding interrogation by his family, which was bound to happen if he went about making pies from scratch everyday. Of course I said yes. And since it’s just me at home, because my workaholic parents are hardly ever around anyway, I thought, why not.

And so, nearly everyday for a month, Shibuya laboured determinedly to perfect his ultimate pie recipe — trying out various combinations of style and techniques, crusts and fillings. You would never pin him down for a culinary enthusiast, but he is, after all, a kid who can do anything if he just tries. And try he did, for reasons he blushed furiously over and refused to talk about. That’s really a very big giveaway, by the way.

“So, I get that White Day is a day to reciprocate …” I ventured, “which means … this is suppose to be in answer to that chocolate baseball Lord von Bielefeld made for you for Valentine’s Day. Doesn’t that seem like you are subtly emasculating him?”

“What?!” Shibuya jerked violently.

According to my ‘A Very Strange Month in which Shibuya Made At Least Twenty-Seven Recognisable Pies’ diary — which I started at random for laughs — this was well into the second week, so Shibuya’s pies were starting to take good shape. However, his shocked reaction from my prodding resulted in a badly squashed one that day.

“Isn’t that so?” I asked innocently.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it is typical for girls to give chocolates to guys on Valentine’s Day, and guys to present gifts in return to the girls from whom they received Valentine’s chocolates on White Day. Since you’re clearly trying to do this for Lord von Bielefeld as a White Day gift, isn’t that the implication?”

“Of course _not_!” Shibuya exclaimed, looking rather offended. “Murata, what are you saying? We’re both men! Wolf and I — we’re both _men_!” he waved a flour-encrusted hand for emphasis.

Ah … that old infamous phrase of protest that Shibuya used to fall back on. I’ve heard that was what he would cry out whenever he was reminded of his engagement to the former Prince. But, personally, I don't think I’ve actually heard him make any such protests, since I joined him in that other world. I figured those denials were only in the early days, and now no longer, as Shibuya matures into his own. He has really developed into this relationship with his fiance, huh? Sure enough, even though the words were exactly the same now, the sentiment couldn’t be any more different, as he glared indignantly at me.

“No matter how you look at it — even if he is as lovely as an angel — Wolfram is not feminine in the least, you know! Of course I am aware we are both men, and neither one of us should be emasculated,” he added sulkily. “Besides, I also gave him something for Valentine’s Day. That does _not_ make me a girl.”

“Ah, yes, that chocolate ring, huh? It really looked like a wedding ring.”

When I first learned of what Shibuya did, I had collapsed to the floor from laughter, letting out such a tremendous ‘PFFFFFT!’ that my glasses fogged up. Even Lord Weller — who was the only other person who got what it actually meant — was smiling a huge, genuine smile, and not one of those charming smiles he always wore. Shibuya had made, by hand, a ring out of black dark chocolate, encrusted with white chocolates like diamonds. He even placed it in a little jewellery box made of pinkish strawberry chocolate, which was lined on the inside with milk chocolate.

At this reminder, however, Shibuya’s shoulder drooped, making me feel like a horrible jerk. He was probably feeling dejected by the reminder that Lord von Bielefeld did not get the significance of it. Oh, sure, the Lord Fiance cherished and treasured the gift immensely — no doubt about that. But — in a world where marriage proposals are made with slaps (in the manner of nobility in ancient times), or window-threatening rock-throwing ceremonies (these days it’s pebble-tapping) — Shibuya’s romantic gesture was lost on Lord von Bielefeld, and Shibuya simply did not have the courage to say it outright to his fiance.

I even had to remind him that he is _already_ engaged to Lord von Bielefeld, with extra reinforced double affirmation, too. You could not possibly get any more _engaged_ than Shin Makoku’s Royal Couple! Seriously, they behave like an old married couple — and I mean the Mazoku definition of _old_. Although … I suppose … that was Shibuya’s way of asking for their Royal Wedding already…!

“Hey … you know I’m just kidding, right?” I said apologetically. “Of course I’m not demeaning your gender, either of you. After all, all these notion of gender roles are slowly changing, even here in Japan. I know it’s a hard and slow process, but things will get better.” Who knows, I added silently to myself, that brother of my friend might just make a difference … when he becomes the governor of Tokyo (never mind that he is from Saitama) … even if his sole purpose is to make a better society for his beloved little brother!

“Yeah … well …” Shibuya purposefully puts on a nonchalant face, and went back to his pie. “The reason I’m doing this is because I think Wolf would like it.”

Ah, so he’s finally admitting it out loud that he’s doing all these for Lord von Bielefeld. Before this, he simply allowed me to make my deductions based on his silences and reactions.

I nodded solemnly. “I’m certain he will. But, say, Shibuya, don’t you think he would be peeved that you didn’t tell him about White Day, as a day for reciprocation? I’m sure he’ll want to reciprocate your gift as much as you do for him.”

Shibuya paled. “B—but that’s just it, though, isn’t it? If I tell him about it, then it would seem like I’m asking for something in return! That would ruin the sentiment behind everything, like I was being completely insincere and all, y’know.”

“Shibuya!” I groaned with part fond amusement and part exasperation. “Do you always have to overthink things? Sheesh …” I added under my breath, “and they say you don’t take the engagement seriously? What do they have, bricks for brains?”

“Huh? What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I say with a small smile. “You know, I’ve mentioned this before, that the owner of my soul from five lives ago was a baker in Spain. If you want, I can help you hone your pie-making skills. You don’t have to worry, it will still be all your effort — your blood, sweat and tears. All I’ll be giving you are pointers from the baker’s memories.”

That brightened Shibuya’s mood considerably. “Thanks, Murata.”

Like I said, his pies were getting better. The one time my parents came home in that month — by then, it was the third week of the MA-pie month — Shibuya had left the product of that day’s work at my place.

Actually, he did that everyday — leaving all the pies to me. He would only take out a small portion for himself to test out its taste, and leave the rest for my consumption. It’s because he’s such a health conscious aspiring athlete, and because — or so he reasoned — I’m living on my own, that it would be better for me to have all those test pies. Oh, and did I mention, the pies were huge! Each one was about one to two kilograms. And you wonder why this Muraken is being so ungrateful towards pies?!

Anyway, when my parents — who are probably used to eating fancy pastries in the course of their professional dealings — tasted it, they quite enjoyed it. When I told Shibuya so, he became flustered and embarrassed, but got even more fired up — no Lord von Bielefeld related puns intended, mind you.

Of course, since it’s March, the end-of-year examinations were upon us. Shibuya had been working extra hard on that, too. In fact, it had become a thing, a sort of routine for me to quiz him while he laboured away on his pies.

“Hehhh, I mean … if I am able to answer correctly while working on something else, it would show that I’m really getting the hang of the subject, right?” Shibuya said sheepishly. “But — oh, CRAP!”

“Shibuya? What’s wrong?”

“Murata, I—I’ve been really selfish! I’m so sorry, Murata! I’m really such a muscle-brain!” He looked at me with such a horrified expression, you’d think he just burned down my home by accident or something! “I’m such a terrible friend, I almost forgot you have exams, too! And I’ve been distracting you from your studies!” He began to break out in cold sweat. “Murata, what are we going to do?! Your future is at stake here! And it’s my fault!”

I burst out laughing. “Relax, Shibuya! Geez…! Have a little faith in me, why don’t you?” I put on an air as though I’m insulted that he should think so poorly of my intelligence.

“Eeeeeehhh! No — that’s not what I meant — of course I’m not doubting your intelligence! I mean — I’m sure you’ll be able to pull through with excellence, even without studying and all — but—but—!”

“Shi-bu-ya!” I half yelled to get through to him. “It’s not the end of the world, even if I fail the exams. We’re the Murakenzu duo, remember? I wasn’t _joking_ about aiming for a future in comedy with you, you know. And all these Japanese academic qualifications aren’t even valid in Shin Makoku, anyway, since you seem to have decided that is your home, and I’m following you, of course. Besides,” I lay my hands flat on the stack of reference books in front of me, “who says I haven’t been studying? I’m helping you revise, aren’t I? So I’m also studying with you at the same time, see? It will be just fine, Shibuya! Just fine. Now, you’d better get back to that pie crust, before I have to live with a disaster batch tonight.”

“Sorry, sorry …. And, Murata?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. You’re a really good friend, you know…?”

I smiled. That made me really happy.

He seemed to have calmed down a bit, but not for long. “Wait — Murata, what about the Pi Day celebration you’re in charge of organising for your school?”

“It’s all coming along great,” I reassured him, before he can feel guilty again. “You know, speaking of that pi, we should work on Mathematics, next.”

A few hours later, Shibuya slumped across the bright yellow sofa, utterly exhausted from both the mathematical pi and the culinary pie.

“Urgh, how do you do it so easily, Murata?!” He began mumbling to himself the geometrical concepts we just went through. “Pi … 3.14159 … circles … circumference … diameter … radius … sector … segment … chord … arc …! Arghhh! This is just making my brain go in circles!”

“That was just the topic on geometry, my friend,” I said cheerfully. “Wait until we get to calculus, tomorrow! There will be a whole lot more of pi for you!”

“Eeek! That grin! That grin is totally evil, Murata!” And he playfully threw a cushion at me.

“Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?” I said, chucking the cushion back at Shibuya — and … missed spectacularly. Sigh, this is why I’m the manager of the Dandy Lions — the grass-lot baseball team Shibuya founded — and not one of the players!

“Ughhh! It takes a special kind of genius to enjoy dealing with pi!”

“And it takes a special kind of dedication to enjoy dealing with pie!”

“Huh?” Shibuya was utterly confused.

“At least you’re puzzling yourself over numerical facts and data! Pi is a mathematical constant, so you technically can’t go wrong,” I pointed out. “On the other hand, _I_ am puzzling over the perplexing intricacies of how the mind works when in love …”

“Huh?!” Shibuya’s increasing confusion was highly entertaining.

“Especially when that said mind is your best friend’s! There is nothing quite so complicated, you know,” I said with a grin. “I’m beginning to think Archimedes kind of had it easy, relaxing in a nice bath and going ‘eureka!’.”

“Wait, wait! Murata — you’ve got me completely lost!” Shibuya raised his hands in surrender. “What _are_ we talking about?”

“Hmm? Oh, just that I’m still trying to figure out why you’re pouring your heart and soul into making the perfect pie …” I mused. “In the first place, why pie, at all?”

“Eh?” Shibuya was nervously looking everywhere but at me. To think, after all this time, he can still get so adorably bashful…! “I thought you already know, it’s for White Day…?”

“Tsk, tsk! You know that’s not it, or rather that’s not all of it,” I said, pushing my glasses into place so that I can see him better. “Shibuya, I’m not at all exaggerating that you’ve spent more than a hundred hours on learning to make this pie! Across over three weeks, in this house alone, you’ve spent one hundred and four hours, fifteen minutes and nine seconds, more or less.”

“Uwah! Murata, how do you even know something like that?!”

“You could say I’ve been taking notes,” I said, smirking.

Shibuya’s eyes widened. “Wh—what for?”

“As I’ve said before, it’s a momentous occasion! This way, I’ll have the records, if you decide to tell the story to your daughter’s grandkids in the future!”

“Nooo!” wailed Shibuya. “I don’t want to think about Greta growing up and all that!”

“Or, if you should someday decide to publish a memoir on the greatest love story of all time — yes, Shibuya, I’m talking about you and Lord von Bielefeld Wolfram!”

“What?!”

“Or if you’re too shy to do it, I’ll happily do it for you.”

“Bu—but that stuff is private!!!” Shibuya spluttered.

“But, Shibuya,” I said, leaning forwards and putting on a serious air just to tease him, “don’t you want to set a good example for the people of Shin Makoku? If their King loves and cherishes his one true partner so very dearly, don’t you think the people will be inspired to find and treasure their own relationships better? That _would_ be in line with your policy for peace, you know. The lesser the conflict, the greater the peace. Think about how much more peaceful life can be with less discord in the love department.”

“Don’t do this to me, Murata!” Shibuya groaned into his hands.

“Just a thought,” I said lightly. “So, are you still not going to tell me why you’re so invested in this pie project of yours?”

“Hehe … it’s not that weird, is it?” Shibuya said, getting slightly pink. “The reason why I’m putting effort into it is because I didn’t know the first thing about making a pie, much less from scratch. I mean, I’m not even generally a kitchen person to begin with. S—so … I need to learn everything from square one, at point zero.”

“Shibuya, I won’t insult you by asking why you can’t just buy a pie, or even ready-made ingredients, though I’m sure you can find them anywhere, even in Shin Makoku …”

“Yeah — well — my Mom always said that food made yourself is always better, y’know …. It’s because you’re pouring in your love to nourish your dear ones.” Shibuya blushed. “So, even if I make my own pie fillings and get only the crust ready-made, or vice versa, it just won’t be the same. And since it’s going to be a White Day present — like … aren’t you supposed to give triple the return, to signify how strongly you reciprocate the sentiment? I—I figure the effort I put in might count towards that — not that I’m only putting in effort for the sake of calculation—!”

I laughed at the panicked expression he had, that I might misunderstand him. “Of course not!” I assured him. “By now, your dedication has probably bring the count up to more than ten times triple the return!”

“Murata, you maths guy, how did you even calculate thirty out of that?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” I chuckled. “It’s probably way past counting, anyway, what with how much emotion you actually pour into it! Still, even so … you don’t have to burn yourself out to make it to perfection. It’s not that I don’t believe you can do it — on the contrary, I really think your pies are very good already! And I should know, as I am the one who has been devouring all your trial pies! By now, I should be well sick of pies — and I can assure you, I’m definitely taking a pie break, once we see you through White Day — but … I can’t deny your latest products are very well made! You wouldn’t even be able to tell the chef is a baseball guy with no natural culinary talent whatsoever. I bet that if you sell them in Shin Makoku, they’ll become more famous than the Karbelnikoff region’s specialty pie. And yet, you’re still breaking your back and brains to make _the_ perfect pie.”

Shibuya squirmed uncomfortably under this onslaught. “S—so … you’re saying … I’m just wasting time, energy and resources, huh?” he asked in a small, dejected voice.

“That’s not what I said!” I huffed, and Shibuya looked relieved. “It’s just that it’s a little bewildering, to be honest.”

Of course it was. Because I can usually comprehend what Shibuya is working towards. He is my best friend, after all. And with the advantage of all those other people’s memories and experiences, I can understand him better than himself, sometimes, or at least make sense of things by observation and deduction. But not this time. This time, it’s like I missed a step in logic, and am left calculating and re-calculating to figure out the accuracy. You know that feeling when you see something that makes sense, but still leaves you frustrated because you can’t figure out how it came to be? Yeah. Maybe I was being a busybody buddy, but I want to fully understand Shibuya, if I am to always help him be the best he can be. But, sometimes, that can be difficult, amidst the dynamics of everything else.

“Bewildering? Bewildering how?” Shibuya wondered in puzzlement. “Murata, it’s just pie …. Please don’t get so serious over this type of pie! If you want to put on that Professor Grandpa face, do it over that other type of pi! You look like you’re playing chess to the death against Shinou or something.”

“Hah! That guy won’t even stand a chance!” I snorted. “Besides the fact that he’s already dead, all he can do is sit around channelling ‘The Emperor's New Clothes’, while pretending to have an elegant solo tea party!”

We both burst out laughing at the ridiculous image.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is that I get that you want to please and impress your fiance, Shibuya, but I highly doubt he would scorn your efforts if the final product is less than perfect,” I said encouragingly. “It’s funny … I’ve always been under the impression that Lord von Bielefeld is the perfectionist, between the two of you …. You’re usually the somewhat carefree one — well — maybe I take that back. You haven’t been all that carefree on a deeper level. Anyhow, I’d still say your fiance is the meticulous one, the princely perfectionist.”

“That’s the point!” sighed Shibuya, running his hands through his hair. “It’s because he _is_ perfection that he deserves only the best, you see …. It’s silly — I know I’m being silly. I’m just a henachoko, after all — but … I want to try. I … I—I … don’t know how to put it, exactly. But — never mind …”

“Hang on, Shibuya…!” I raised my hands in a time out gesture. “First of all, I didn’t say he is ‘perfection’, I said he is a ‘perfectionist’! There’s a difference.”

Shibuya shrugged. “Same difference …”

“Secondly, please don’t look so sad! You’ll see him soon enough.”

“I’m not—!”

“And thirdly,” I said across him, “Lord von Bielefeld sure is a lucky guy, huh?”

To this, Shibuya mumbled something under his breath, but I’m pretty sure I caught something like, ‘luck has got nothing to do with it …’. So he means it’s by choice, then, that they are together … huh, how sweet.

“OK, OK,” I said in amusement. “You’re giving it your all to show your love and devotion. I see that now. But, why pie? It could be any other dessert, right? Like marshmallow, or a cake, or some other pudding …. I bet your fiance would really love a good white chocolate mousse.”

“Honestly, I was still looking for ideas, until you mentioned Pi Day …” Shibuya said with a smile. “Then it hit me. Something about the mathematical concept …. Pi …. Pi, pie. From pi to a pie. I don't know, it just … felt right.”

I stared at him for a moment, and then, comprehension dawning, broke into a laughing fit.

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Shibuya frowned.

“Goodness, Shibuya, for all your complaints about the mathematical pi, it really is fitting here, isn’t it?” I choked out, still gasping for breath. “You complain about how hard it is to understand it — to you, that’s just like trying to understand your fiance and your relationship, is that it?”

“Um …” He shifted uncomfortably, like a child whose naughty acts had been exposed.

“And despite your complaints, you were aware, even before doing all that revision, that pi has got to do with circles. That’s your way of saying that no matter what, you’ll always circle back to find him, right? Plus, circles symbolise endlessness … as in, your love for each other…? Just as pi is a numerical constant, your feelings are too…?”

By then, Shibuya’s face was so red, I can almost believe Lord von Bielefeld’s flames was right there blazing all around him — hmm, that may actually be very true in a figurative sense. But his blush told me I was spot on correct.

“You know, Shibuya,” I laughed, “you going out of your way to come up with these stuff is really out of character, and yet, at the same time, not at all.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he pouted.

“Mmm-hmm, but it feels strangely natural — only you would think of something like that. Who would have thought…?”

“Oh Eminence!!!” Comes Gurrier’s sing-song voice. Somehow, it sounded like Lady von Spitzweg calling out for her sons, especially her youngest. I cringe and blink, only to see Gurrier waving a forkful of his pie in front of my face, trying to catch my attention. “Eminence, you still there?”

“What? Yeah.” I quickly wave the fork away before it can smudge my glasses. “Sorry, I kind of zoned out awhile there, huh?”

“Yup, you were doing that creepy sage face.”

“Hey!” I protest. “What’s so creepy about a thoughtful look? And I don't have a sage face. Anyway, you were saying?”

“Actually, Your Eminence, _you_ were saying something about how the Young Master’s adorable peculiarities cannot be helped,” Gurrier said, cheerfully shovelling pie into his mouth even while speaking. “And then, you spaced out and completely ignored Guri-chan. That’s the second time today you broke my maiden heart, Your Eminence, and the alarm bird hasn’t even cried out yet! Gurie got so upset, she went and cried a little!”

“Eh? Only a little?”

“Aww, Your Eminence, you shouldn’t be so mean to a young lady like me!”

“Yeah, right,” I snort. “Shibuya would probably say something like, said ‘young lady’ has biceps that would send professional wrestlers crying for Mama!”

“In all seriousness, though, Your Eminence, is His Majesty all right?” asked Gurrier, his sharp blue eyes shrewd. “Since the two of you came back last night, my Master seemed preoccupied.”

“He’s fine, Gurrier,” I assure him, matching him in seriousness. “I don't think I should tell you what has him so preoccupied, but there’s nothing alarming—”

“Are you sure about that?” Gurrier suddenly jolts out of his seat in a flash, eyes alert, as though ready for an attack.

“What?” I blink. I follow his gaze out the window, but I’m too late to catch anything significant of what he saw. The sun still hasn’t fully risen yet, so it’s a little dark outside, but I’m sure I just caught a flash of a hooded figure ducking through the front entrance of Gurrier’s shop.

“Well, speak of the Demon!”

On Earth, that would be to speak of the devil. As it is, I am tempted to ask, ‘Which one?’. We’re surrounded by a whole city full of Mazokus, after all. The answer?: _the_ Demon himself, as in Mazoku Number 1, the Maou!

Shibuya bursts into the parlour, panting and sweating like he ran all the way from the Castle — which, in all probability, he must have done. He must have shot off at top speed, if a sports guy like him is so completely out of breath!

“Jo—huh-ha—sak—huh-ha…!” Shibuya pants, bent over with his hands on his knees.

“Shibuya!”

“Your Majesty! What’s the matter?”

“Kit—ch—en … n—need … to … borrow … your kit’en! Please?”

“Uhh, Young Master, why don’t you catch your breath first?” Gurrier guides Shibuya into a chair. “Then you can tell me all about why you need to borrow my kitten? Ah, shouldn’t the Knitting Excellency be a better person to go to, for something like this? Your big sister here is fresh out of kittens, I’m afraid!”

“Gurrier, I think Shibuya said ‘kitchen’,” I say, trying not to laugh.

Shibuya nods vigorously, as he gulps down the water Gurrier handed him.

“But that would make even less sense,” said Gurrier with a frown. “Ah, Young Master, you made me think you wanted to get a cute little kitten for the Young Mistress Princess Greta to take away with her on her overseas studies. Not that I mind sharing my humble kitchen with Your Majesty, of course — but it’s not like Blood Pledge Castle hasn’t got one! Young Master, are you getting up to something naughty again?” Gurrier chuckles good-naturedly.

“Please, Josak?!” Shibuya pleads desperately, finally having caught his breath. “I know this is very sudden and unreasonable, but this is really urgent! I _have_ to use a kitchen! I really have to! And I can’t use the kitchen back home!”

“From the way you’re saying it, Shibuya, people would think you’re begging to use the toilet, not the kitchen!” I say, attempting to calm him down.

“Murata, this is even more dire!” Shibuya throws up his hands. “If it were just the toilet — worst comes to worst, I can just relieve myself somewhere out there, if I absolutely have no other choice! But there’s no way I can make the pie without a kitchen!”

“Pie?” Gurrier looks over at me questioningly, probably recalling our conversation earlier. “Young Master, what does any of it have to do with pies?”

“Shibuya, what happened up at the Castle?”

Shibuya takes a deep breath. “I woke up earlier than usual to get started on making the pie, y’know, but Wolf wasn’t in bed …”

Shibuya actually sounds whiny! Gurrier and I exchange looks of amusement.

“Don’t look like that — sheesh!” grumbles Shibuya. “He usually wakes up later than me, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh? Then what did you do, when you couldn’t find him _in bed_?” I smirk. “I would have thought you came to set Agent 0043 Gurrie-chan here on the case…!”

Shibuya ignores me, and continues with his account. “I thought maybe he had something to do, so I didn’t think too much about it …”

“Hmm, not _too_ much, but you definitely thought much about it,” I joke, earning myself a glare.

“So I thought I should just proceed with my plan. When I got down to the kitchens, there he was!”

“You mean His Excellency Wolfram?!” asks Gurrier, actually astonished.

“Yes!”

“And what did the Third Son say he was doing there?” Gurrier is intrigued.

“I—I didn’t actually get to speak with him …” says Shibuya. “A guard told me he was in quite a temper, and had ordered that absolutely no one, apart from the staff, is to enter the kitchen, until he says otherwise.”

“I see His Excellency is still a horrible morning person, as ever!” Gurrier chuckles.

“Shibuya, you do remember you are the King, right?” I say exasperatedly. “Any orders you give supersede all others, even those of your fiance’s.”

At this, Shibuya looks kind of sad. I’m aware that he wants an equal partner in Lord von Bielefeld, always trying to keep up with him. It’s funny that, although I’m the one who is truly his age, it is that Mazoku in his eighties in whom Shibuya finds true companionship. I mean, I _am_ his best friend, but it is Lord von Bielefeld who breaks all barriers with Shibuya. Anyway …

“You know I won’t do something like that!” Shibuya huffs indignantly. “Th—that would be domestic abuse!”

“Domestic, huh?” I grin. What did I tell you about them behaving like an old married couple?

“Besides,” Shibuya sighs, “I hear he’s making something for Greta to take on her study abroad trip to Cavalcade tomorrow. I can’t just tell him to drop it, not when he’s doing something so sweet and kind for our daughter. And I can’t very well just go in there and make the pie, when he’s right there! It’s supposed to be a surprise! Even if I tried to do it sneakily, there will be questions.”

“Don’t worry, Young Master,” coos Gurrier, ruffling Shibuya’s hair. “My kitchen is all yours for the day! Come on, let’s get you started on your sweetheart surprise, shall we?”

Great indeed is Shibuya’s gratefulness, thanking Gurrier over and over again, while apologising profusely for the inconvenience.

Once in the kitchen, Shibuya is immediately in action. It appears that he brought along all the things he needs, all the ingredients and such. Gurrier tries to offer a hand, but I grab his arm and just shake my head. I know from experience that Shibuya is determined to do this himself. So the two of us — Gurrier and I — simply stand around watching him work.

It takes Shibuya over three hours before he is done. The final product is a large pie of at least three kilograms, likely more! The core of the pie is a first-class white chocolate strawberry cream. Around this core filling is a ring layer of apple custard. Shibuya insisted this is a good idea — first, you think it’s an apple pie, and then, you’re in for a pleasant surprise! Especially since Lord von Bielefeld seems to really like strawberries. Shibuya had put in a lot of effort to balance out the flavour, so that the apple custard and the strawberry cream would complement one another, instead of clashing horribly. And, to top it all off, the pie is capped with a convex of rich, snow white French vanilla mousse.

“Wow! This really is a white White Day gift, huh?” I breathe in admiration. It really is a magnificent pie, greater than all the others he had made before. Maybe because this one is really going to be for his important person, that’s why. “Look at you, Shibuya!” I pound him on the back, like he just won a good game with the Dandy Lions. “You’ve graduated from making pork stew in the microwave, my friend. I’m so proud of you!”

“Sh—should I place a cherry at the top?” Now that his work is completed, Shibuya looks nervous.

“Young Master, the pie looks more beautiful than Gurrie-chan already, as it is!” Gurrier grins and winks. “Best not to overdo it, you know what I mean…?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Shibuya agrees reluctantly. He looks about anxiously, wringing his hands. “Um, I guess I should take it back up to the Castle and find Wolf …. Gosh, I sure hope I don’t drop it or anything…! You know how it is, when you really can’t afford to drop something, and end up dropping it somehow…?”

“Calm down, Shibuya, you’ll be all right,” I encourage, patting his shoulder.

“If you like, I can take it up there for you, Young Master?” Gurrier offers. “It’s time I go pay the boss a kitty visit, anyway!”

“Shibuya,” I say, very seriously, grasping his forearm. “Are you going to tell Lord von Bielefeld?”

For a brief moment, our eyes meet. He knows I’m not talking about the pie itself, but the sentiment behind it. Otherwise, it would become just like the chocolate ring. For that matter, he should also tell his fiance what that chocolate ring meant, the hopes and dreams it carried. I don't have to say all that, but I’m certain Shibuya knows perfectly well all that I’m thinking.

Shibuya swallows hard and opens his mouth to reply. But instead—

“Tell me what?”

All three of us freeze.

That is the voice that makes Shibuya flush and pale all at once. Flush, because that’s his natural reaction to his partner; pale, because of how nervous he must be feeling about the whole White Day sentiment. The sight would have been quite comical, if not for the fact that I can feel the fiery glare on my hand that is still gripping Shibuya’s arm.

Oh, crap — what would that jealous tsundere think, when you add my words and action together? Oh, double crap! I may not be the type who would be easily intimidated by Lord von Bielefeld — if only because he usually gives me the distant treatment — but even I can be burned to a crisp! Besides, I really, really don’t want to ruin this day for Shibuya. I instantly jump back, as if I’d really been burned, and crash into Gurrier.

Even Gurrier looks like he’s trying to be smaller, under the fierce presence radiating off the former Prince. Again, comical. Lord von Bielefeld is more or less equal in height and physique to Shibuya. But, because of his regal bearings and graceful posture, on top of his fiery personality, even a huge, muscular guy like Gurrier is easily dominated by the Mazoku Prince’s aura.

Or maybe it’s all also because of the secretive atmosphere that makes the intimidation much worse than it actually is. All for that surprise Shibuya was so anxious about!

I steal a glance over at Shibuya, but it seems he is completely entranced by — what is that term he uses to call his fiance in his head again? — the angel or bishounen or whatever else, who is standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey, Wolf!” Shibuya offers him a timid smile.

“Hmph!” Lord von Bielefeld crosses his arms crossly. “Is that all you are going to say?”

“Wait, is he expecting more? Is he asking for a good morning kiss?” I whisper to Gurrier.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when I went back to our rooms and find you were not there, and no one knows where you had gone?!” Lord von Bielefeld finally explodes. “And I know for a fact that you aren’t out training with Conrart, because he is still unwell. What are you doing here, anyway? Yuuri, you had better not be sneaking behind my back!”

“Wolf …” Shibuya takes a step back. He looks a little hurt by that last sentence from his fiance.

“Well?” Lord von Bielefeld says curtly. Then, he sighs, and drops his hostile stands, though he still looks pretty irritated, even if a little tired. “Why are you still such a henachoko…? And why are you looking like your best friend just stole the crucial piece in your ‘Happy-Happy Bone Puzzle’?”

“Eeek! What is that?” Shibuya squeaks.

“Hey! I would never do such a thing!” I chorus.

“Wolf, I’m really sorry for making you worry like that …. But …” Shibuya trails off.

“What is it, Yuuri?”

“I—I guess it’s been a while since you’ve been angry in that way, you know … like, to say that I’m sneaking behind your back,” Shibuya mumbles, hanging his head to hide his somewhat hurt expression. “You do know that I would never, right?”

“For goodness sake, Shibuya! Just tell him already!” I stage whisper. “All you’re doing is dragging it out pointlessly!”

“Tell — me — what?” We could all hear the explosion suppressed beneath the fiery Prince’s impatient tone.

Lord von Bielefeld is probably expecting the worst. They say he’s matured immensely. But waking up extra early in the morning, when you’re not a morning person to start with, on top of the distress of hunting down your missing King all over town — anyone would be extremely ticked off, especially if you happen to be a hot tempered person in the first place! On the bright side, this works to Shibuya’s advantage — because it would make the surprise all the greater.

“I—” Shibuya swallows nervously, and steels himself.

Shibuya shyly offers his open hand to his fiance, who looks suspiciously at it for awhile before stepping forwards and placing his hand in Shibuya’s. Then, with his other hand, Shibuya gently turns Lord von Bielefeld by the shoulders to face the kitchen counter, where the pie is sitting in all its glory. This is followed by a moment of intense silence — everyone is holding their breaths to see how Lord von Bielefeld is going to respond.

“You came all the way down here for this?” I can’t see Lord von Bielefeld’s expression clearly, but his voice is calm.

“It’s for you, Wolf,” Shibuya says quietly.

“And you made it yourself?”

“I — how can you tell?” Shibuya asks uncertainly.

At last, at long last, Lord von Bielefeld finally laughs. And it’s like the sun has finally risen properly, because Shibuya’s mood instantly lifts by a hundred per cent!

“Oh, Yuuri! Only a henachoko like you can ask such a question while standing there covered all over in flour and cream!”

I have to say, even Gurrier and I burst out laughing at this obviousness.

“Hey!” Shibuya pouts playfully, and pokes his partner in the side.

“May I?” Lord von Bielefeld gestures towards the pie.

Shibuya nods wordlessly, suddenly looking nervous again. Lord von Bielefeld strolls over confidently to the drawers and gets a spork, as if he owns the place.

“Excuse the presumptuousness, Gurrier.”

“Ah, Your Excellency, you’re excused if you enjoy the Young Master’s creation!” Gurrier winks.

Without hesitating, Lord von Bielefeld digs straight into the middle of the pie and brings the spork gracefully to his lips.

“Just like that, huh?” I comment in amusement. “Straight to the heart of it. So much for the surprise flavour and what not!”

“That’s just like them, don’t you think?” Gurrier laughs. “They each kind of shot straight for the other’s heart, if you ask me.”

Ignoring the two of us at the sides, Shibuya is watching his fiance’s face intently, as he savours the pie. And then, Lord von Bielefeld Wolfram breaks into such a radiant smile that Shibuya’s breath audibly catches in his throat.

“Wolf, I made this for you for White Day, and, uh, White Day is like—”

“A day to show you reciprocate the love and sentiment you received on Valentine’s Day,” Lord von Bielefeld nods and finishes for him. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

“Wha—what?! Wolf, how do you know that?” Shibuya shrieks in shock.

“His Eminence told me,” replies Lord von Bielefeld, nodding towards me.

“Yikes! He sure doesn’t play tactful, does he?” I groan to Gurrier, just as Shibuya swings around to face me.

“Murata, you—you told Wolf?”

“Hold on, Shibuya!” I say hurriedly. “I only told him about White Day right after Valentine’s Day, because he cornered me to ask what is it that has been bothering you, and because you won’t tell him the reason! And before you start panicking, I did _not_ tell him the actual reason — like I said, that’s for you to tell him yourself. I also did _not_ breathe a word about the pie, if you’re wondering.”

Lord von Bielefeld nods. “His Eminence simply told me that there is a White Day that comes after Valentine’s Day, and that, perhaps, whatever it is that upset you on Valentine’s Day, we might be able to resolve it today.”

“I—I wasn’t really that upset about it, Wolf …”

“Hmph! You’re being dishonest about your own feelings again,” Lord von Bielefeld says in his trademark straightforwards manner.

“Wolf …” Shibuya says helplessly, blushing bright red.

“Knowing your weird thought processes, I knew you weren’t going to tell me about White Day, because you’d probably think it would make you insincere or something equally ridiculous.”

“Spot on, Lord von Bielefeld!” I cheer.

“Hey!” protests Shibuya.

“That’s why you had better not come up with any insecure henachoko ideas right now, because I did not wake up before dawn just to make this for you, only to hear you still think you’re not loved and cherished as much as you truly are.”

I sigh. Way to go, Lord von Bielefeld, say it so extremely outright in so many words, that I bet Shibuya can barely keep up, if at all. Beside me, Gurrier is silently laughing his head off. These two really are priceless!

With a huff, Lord von Bielefeld draws out something that looks like a small treasure chest from who knows where. It’s about the right size for a baseball to sit inside. He places it on top of the counter, next to the pie, and lifts open the lid to reveal—

“Whoa! Is that ice cream!” Shibuya exclaims in excitement.

“I brought this up to our room to give it to you, but you weren’t there.”

Ah, I think to myself, so that’s why he was so unhappy, earlier.

“But, how?” Shibuya asks in wonder. “Shin Makoku doesn’t have ice cream!”

“This is a MA-powered flash freezing device,” Lord von Bielefeld explains, tapping the container. “I can’t be sure it’s exactly what you expect it to be …” he says hesitatingly. “After all, I have no idea what iced cream is. All I’ve heard about it are the descriptions from Conrart and you.”

“This is wonderful, Wolf! May I?” And without waiting for an answer, Shibuya picks up the spork Lord von Bielefeld had used earlier and digs straight in.

I am highly tempted to gleefully shout out ‘INDIRECT KISS!’, like the kids in middle school would. But, then again, they _are_ an engaged and an involved couple! Forget lame indirect kisses, they’ve probably had much more than that!

In the meantime, Shibuya is looking like a little kid living the dream of his life in ice cream land!

“Oh, wow! Wolf, this is really good!” Shibuya exclaims earnestly. “Thank you! I really, really like it! It tastes just like those fancy and expensive Italian ice creams — gelato? Anyway, this is probably the best ice cream I have ever had!”

“You must have had to put a lot into it, Lord von Bielefeld,” I say seriously, “considering your element is fire, and you throw yourself into making a frozen dessert.”

“Not particularly,” replied Lord von Bielefeld without meeting my gaze.

But if I know Lord von Bielefeld at all — well — if Shibuya was breaking his back and brains over the pie, you can bet that Lord von Bielefeld was equally, if not more, intense.

Shibuya looks concerned, until Lord von Bielefeld glares at him to stop.

“Wolf,” Shibuya takes his fiance’s hand sweetly, “can we take the day off…? Maybe go somewhere nice? Then we can enjoy these together …” he pleads hopefully.

“Of course.” Lord von Bielefeld’s eyes softens into something indescribably tender.

And off they go, hand in hand. Right before they step out the door, Shibuya meets my gaze, and I see the resolve in his eyes … he would confess all his sentimental gestures to his fiance. I smile.

“Ahhh, love…!” sighs Gurrier, once the door shuts behind the Royal Couple. “Your Eminence, why are you looking so pensive?” He claps me hard on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine! They will work it out, I’m sure of it. The two of them have grown a lot, they’ll be able to handle things between them just fine. Just give them time.”

“Actually, I’m wondering if their date might be interrupted by a certain worried godfather, especially if he hears Lord von Bielefeld discovered the King missing this morning.”

“Lord Weller?” Gurrier snorts derisively. “The Captain isn’t getting out of bed anytime soon, Your Eminence! Having to eat so much frozen cream on a daily basis for the past month or so really took a heavy toll on his body. The funny thing is, his diarrhoea started weeks ago, but he didn’t say anything and just kept smiling and insisting he wanted to help taste-test for his little brother’s project. That is, until he collapsed a couple of days ago. Who knew the Lion of Luttenberg would finally be defeated by a dessert!” Gurrier chortles loudly. “This is going to be a story for the ages!”

To Gurrier’s surprise, I pale. “I never thought I would ever say this, but, for the first time, I find myself sympathising with Lord Weller!”

“Nah, the Captain is fine,” he reassures me. “If anything, he’s much happier, knowing that he contributed heroically to his little brother’s little project. He’ll probably come out of it making even colder jokes about cold desserts that manage to defeat him! It’s life experience, y’know, no good running from it!”

“I’m not sure I fully see your point,” I say, “but, why not? Hmm, I think I’ll have some of your pies, after all.”

He grins. I grin right back.

“Here, pie?”

“Mmm, pie!”

**Author's Note:**

> Eeek, so I don’t actually know the first thing about making pies! If you do, and when you’re reading this going ‘what the heck — that’s not how pie works’, erm, just forgive the nonsense and point it out to me…?  
> On another note, I noticed in Gaiden 4 that Yuuri really likes pies, and apple pies in particular …. Also, I’m not sure if stuff got lost in translation or something, but the pie Murata was having in ‘Until He Becomes Maou’ started off as a carrot pie, somewhere along the way became a pineapple pie, and finally became an apple pie when Yuuri took half of it…? And it seems Murata only bought one. Super cool, right? Transforming pie!!! Ah, I should probably stop going off about pies — but ... yum!  
> Also, also, this is my first time writing from Murata’s first person point of view …. I mean, it’s not ‘Murakenzu’-style, but I think Murata’s perspective can be quite refreshing in a strange way. Hmm, not sure if I managed to capture his narrating voice, though … gosh — I sure hope I didn’t blow it!  
> And as for Yuuri in kitchen action ... *shrugs* ... I can totally see him doing that, especially after reading the recent ‘Happy New Year’ online short story! Hmm ... from stew to pie .......


End file.
